


The Cause of My Euphoria

by Fourthfireshadow



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anxiety, Canon Universe, Competition, Complicated Relationships, Confident Katsuki Yuuri, Drama, Drama & Romance, Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Jealousy, M/M, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Olympics, Rivalry, Romance, Slow Burn, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-17
Updated: 2018-04-17
Packaged: 2019-04-21 05:02:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14277474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fourthfireshadow/pseuds/Fourthfireshadow
Summary: “Russia.” He blurted, and immediately slapped a hand over his mouth.Few weeks later, Yuuri was making arrangements for his move to St.Peterburg, Russia and just like that, Victor Nikiforov went from being a distant idol to his rinkmate....Victor Nikiforov was a shooting star, bright and blinding and temporary in a way no one could fully comprehend. Here one moment and gone the next, and it was all Yuuri could do to keep up, to stretch out a hand and try to capture even just a bit of the glorious light in sight.





	The Cause of My Euphoria

_8 th November, 2008—Beijing, China_

Yuuri remembered the exact moment he met Victor.

It was in his first year in the senior circuit, at the Cup of China, and his anxiety was rearing its ugly head in the most dreadful of ways. He was due to perform his short in just a few minutes, set to make a lasting impression on the people that were watching—after all, this was a proper debut in the big leagues, with all heavy hitters. He was just a newbie, a rookie clumsily trying to be seen amongst the dazzle and shine of all the others. He could feel his knees shaking involuntarily and his breathing pick up uncomfortably and nothing Nanabi-sensei was saying was working in any way.

Yuuri didn’t exactly remember Victor’s performance, except that it had completely captivated him. After all, this—he—was the reason Yuuri started skating. That’s not to say Victor hadn’t made mistakes however. After his explosive junior debut where he broke all records, the Russian had an equal amount of hits and misses, but Yuuri could see all that untapped potential just waiting to be unleashed, for that greatness everyone had seen a glimpse of in the junior league to come burning out like a supernova.

He fell here, however, on a quad salchow triple toe combination in the second half.

It was enough to propel the nineteen year old to second, and somehow by the end of the short, Yuuri was in fourth.

It was strange then, to be amongst all these athletes and to think he genuinely had a chance, however small. That all those training sessions where he fought for every breath inhaled and every edge deepened, were not all for naught.

They didn’t see each other aside from after the competition. Victor had smiled at him, bright and dazzling and adult-like and said words that seemed congratulatory in thick, accented English, but Yuuri couldn’t make heads or tails out of the actual words.

Instead, he sent an overwhelmed smile back at the blinding bronze medallist and immediately retreated with quick steps.

.

.

.

* * *

 

_29 th January, 2009—Hasetsu, Japan_

His home rink was small, but cosy. Maybe it wasn’t meant for world champions or Olympians, but there were none of them currently skating there anyway. Just hopefuls and wannabes at this point. The walls were chipping and peeling at the corners, cracks more susceptible to sight than it had been when Yuuri was five, at least. Posters of older, mostly retired skaters lined the washed out walls. Most of them Japanese—there was nothing like national pride to rev up the kids after all—but there were a few foreign ones as well, the ones that had transcended into certain types of legends.

While Yuuri does find the moody, mysteriously lit posters of his figure skating seniors to be inspirational and motivational, especially the gold medal winning performance poster of Shizuka Arakawa’s from the Turin Olympics, a new poster was added to the collection gave Yuuri pause whenever he skated past it.

It was a smaller one than the rest, A3 in size rather than A1 or larger, but the gleam of the print gave away its newness, too bright amidst the more paler prints put up. It was one of Victor Nikiforov from the recent Grand Prix Final that took place, where he’d nabbed the silver and lost the gold to only three points. The skater only seemed to be shooting for the stars, and after the recent European Championship in Helsinki where he got the gold with a considerable lead, Yuuko’s parents decided to immortalise the up and coming Russian genius as well.

It was extremely distracting for Yuuri—both the intense focus on the fae-like Russian’s printed face and the knowing grins Yuuko kept throwing at him whenever he stumbled on a crossover near the poster—but also extremely motivating.

After all, it made much more sense to have those flat _blueblueblue_ eyes follow him in the rink than in his bedroom walls to push him to be better, stronger, lighter.

Especially considering the Four Continents Championships in Vancouver were in a mere week. Now that he was finally in the same circuit as his idol and not just yearning to be up there in the big leagues from the junior leagues, Yuuri needs to give it all he’s got to skate on the same ice as him again.

And maybe try to say something rather than run away.

It’s a goal he intends to meet.

.

.

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* * *

 

_6 th February, 2009—Vancouver, Canada_

The Canadian anthem was playing, but Yuuri’s eyes were fixed on Japan’s flag rising along with the other two. It was another country celebrating their pride, but all he could focus on was the red on white of Japan. _He_ put that there. _Him_ , a lowly dime a dozen upstart skater that had barely moved up from juniors.

And yet.

And yet and yet and yet.

Yuuri clutched the medal as soon as the anthem was over, the silver glistening alluringly in his clammy palm. The flower bouquet was probably past salvageable at this point with how hard he was gripping it, which was a real shame because he really wanted to give it to Nanabi-sensei for all that he’d done for him, to bring him to this exact spot.

He was so out of it that the Canadian gold medallist had to nudge him off the podium for the victory lap, and he blushed bright red.

After the disastrous second event in the grand prix series that very clearly threw him out of the running and the sub-par showing at the Japan Nationals where he placed a lowly fourth, this was unprecedented in so many ways. To think he medalled at the test event for the Olympics was just too crazy to even think about.

This was now his highest medalling event in his entire senior international career, what little of it there has been until now.

As he skated the lap, his eyes kept on catching each Japanese flag that was fluttering like crazy in the audience, and he thought, _oh_.

There were a lot of them. Yuuri of course knew not everyone was there to support him per say, and that there were two other Japanese skaters that had competed with him, but at the end of the day, this was the bigger picture. At the end of the day, he was the one bringing back a medal to Japan.

At the moment, all these people with the fluttering red and white flags were all celebrating _him_.

There _was_ a pressure building up in his stomach at the thought of it—the sense of responsibility, the fear of the future, the weight of expectation—but for now, Yuuri let the warmth of euphoria envelop him instead of listening to the darkness that’s always there.

For now, the blinding bright light of the wave of joy and pride was enough to keep it at bay, and he grinned still clutching at the medal around his neck, bright and childlike and free.

.

.

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* * *

 

_25 th March, 2009—Los Angeles, California, USA _

“You did good, kid. Seventh is not a bad place for your first worlds, I’ll tell ya’ that.” The American skater who was a few years his senior consoled, patting his shoulder twice.

Yuuri resisted the urge to pull away or flinch, manners keeping him rooted to the spot as the senior skater proceeded to keep on talking about the pressure and the number of years Yuuri had left to try again and other such things that set his teeth on edge.

This skater was speaking as if Yuuri is out of the running completely and was now just dead weight to this competition. While he himself sort of already knew that after the disastrous short program he just put out on the ice, he absolutely _hated_ it when others pointed out his flaws to him. Yuuri could understand some English, but he couldn’t really put anything into words, and so even if he wanted to question the man or politely excuse himself, he didn’t even know _how_ to.

And the worst part was that this man wasn’t even really saying it out of malicious intent; after all, why would he even _need_ to target Yuuri of all people to dishearten? He wasn’t even competition as such.

After the man had left him in the backstage area with a few more condescending pats to the back, Yuuri slowly sat down on one of the chairs, feeling himself tremble. He pressed his fingers into his thigh, hard, as the full weight of what he’d just done settled onto his bony shoulders.

After the Four Continents Championships, he had received more attention than he had ever received for his skating. It was not as much as the top skaters of his country were receiving on a daily basis, nowhere near. However, after one of the two skaters chosen to represent Japan for Worlds withdrew due to injury, Yuuri was chosen in his stead and it was enough for his anxiety to rear its head in the worst way possible, resulting in a minor panic attack just days before flying off to LA.  It was not made any better after reaching here, of course, but since this was _the_ great stage where all the skaters competed, media attention thankfully filtered out with most of them scampering behind the favourites to medal this year.

He didn’t really know where Nanabi-sensei and Minako was, but he didn’t dare to go look for them. How would he even be able to look them in the eye, knowing how he disappointed them after all the work they put into him, after knowing he disappointed his country like this? He was 7th, for God’s sake! He won’t even be able to recover. If anything, he may just plummet even more.

Yuuri could feel his breaths quickening, and his heart rate elevating a little, but he couldn’t do anything to stop, just grip his thigh hard, harder until—

“Hey, are you—okay?”

Yuuri sucked in a loud breath at that familiar thick Slavic accent, which wasn’t a good idea since his chest hurt a bit at that, but his head snapped up to meet blue-green eyes peering at him in slight concern, the long silver ponytail and obnoxiously bright country jacket giving him away easily.

God, he must look so pathetic to the man who had _just_ broken the world record for the short program. This was the _worst_ way he could’ve tried to make an impression on his idol.

But somehow, at this point, a bone deep exhaustion was keeping him pinned to the chair, and he belatedly realised Victor had asked him a question and was still staring at him.

Face rapidly colouring, he looked away. “…Yes.”

Victor raised an eyebrow, clearly sceptical, and Yuuri gulped, thinking of how to say anything in English. “Eto, um, sad. After skate. Not good.” He tried to enunciate as much as he could, and he himself wanted to cringe at the accent, his tongue not used to rolling the r’s in this way.

But Victor seemed to understand somehow and smiled. “Your Japan’s, yes? What is your standing?”

“Um. Seven.”

“That is not so bad. First year, da?”

Yuuri nodded, and Victor brightened. “Then it is good! Why are you sad, then?”

“For Japan. It—“ Yuuri broke off, eyebrows furrowing at his inability to properly explain what he wants in this clunky language. “I be better. I can. But I don’t. It’s…hard.”

Victor hummed, a finger on his lip, and Yuuri wondered why he was even talking to a loser like him. He must have so many interviews and press cons to get to, yet he was willingly standing there, shielding what must be growing pity away from him. He wondered if it was a kindness he deserved.

“You know, pressure is understandable, even though you seem to be putting a lot of it on yourself. But what caught my interest, even with your bad English, was that part when you said you can be better.” Victor said matter-of-factly, before leaning in close to Yuuri, “So why don’t you?”

Yuuri completely stopped breathing at that point, staring wide at his idol’s very much 3D face so close to his own, close enough to smell sweat and cologne even. The heavy, accented words reverberated in his head, most of them slipping past his level of comprehension as he stared at those eyes he never thought he would see so close in his lifetime, and everything stilled.

_So why don’t you?_

A rather harsh yell of Victor’s name in the background broke the spell, and the Russian easily leant back, pivoting on his foot to walk away.

Just before he did though, he turned around to throw a small wink Yuuri’s way.

“The free’s where it counts! Remember that.”

And with that, he was gone in the hustle and bustle of the backstage area, leaving Yuuri feeling a sense of whimsical loss, but also a smidgen of vague resolve. They say never meet your heroes for they’ll end up disappointing you, but for Yuuri, he couldn’t be more thankful and more satisfied that he’d chosen the right person to idolize after all.

_The free’s where it counts._

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.

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* * *

 

_26 th March, 2009—Los Angeles, California, USA_

In the end, he scored a personal best for the free and won the bronze medal in his first ever Worlds.

Sharing the podium with Viktor’s satisfied beam only made it that much sweeter.

.

.

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* * *

 

_29 th April, 2009—Tokyo, Japan_

The JSF representative—Kieko-san, a small, yet imposing woman, with a high chin and sharp eyes looked at him keenly, until Yuuri could feel the beads of perspiration on the back of his neck forming. Minako next to him was the only reason he was even a bit relaxed.

Having been in constant contact with the JSF since his novice days, he knew most of them pretty well, by face if not my name. Kieko Murakami, the head of the JSF was a woman he had met frequently, ever since he’d participated in his first Junior Grand Prix event actually, and even before that, he’d certainly gotten enough emails from her.

With his medalling at Worlds, however, everything had amplified tenfold after his return to Japan. Sponsors, most of them local, tripled and the press coverage around him was something that still baffled him; camera flashes were now as bad as interview questions since both made his hackles rise considerably, and now after his win, they had only increased. The only silver lining, however slight he could see, was how his small town was thriving more than ever. If anything, that made it a bit better. That, and the bright smiles on his family’s face when he presented the bronze medal and the prize money to them at his homecoming, like a samurai after a war.

It still took time to sink in, that he was sixth in the world standings.

Him.

All of that resulted in a meeting in Tokyo with the head of the JSF, to discuss the immediate future and further options concerning his career. It was wholly intimidating and extremely worry-inducing to think about his future so clinically. To think about a future the JSF are fully interested in sponsoring simply because they believe in his potential.

To think about the fact that they somehow think he might be able to pull off such a feat again and _again_.

It was downright terrifying.

“So, Katsuki-senshu, have you given any thought to what you want to do? Or what your goals are for next season?”

“Ano…” he began timidly, ready to shake his head, but paused.

The last conversation he had with Nanabi-sensei flashed through his mind—about how he should be thinking about finding a coach abroad who could teach him more things than he ever could. About how he shouldn’t be pinned down here because he had potential to be so much more.

Yuuri had not really given any weight to the thought, other than fretting over whether that was Nanabi-sensei’s way of dropping him as a student. Which could be possible, Yuuri knew, because he didn’t really believe everything the older man had said about his potential and whatnot. However, thinking back on it, Nanabi-sensei hadn’t looked at him the way he imagined a coach kicking a student out would, but rather like a proud parent with a fond twinkle in his eye.

 _Maybe_ going out could help him land more quads properly. Maybe the training facilities would be much, much better than his small, cosy home rink in the sleepy town of Hasetsu.

Maybe he could pull off a feat like Worlds again, but _better_.

And wasn’t _that_ a thought.

“Maybe—maybe going to a coach a-abroad?” Yuuri spoke up, mindful to not sound demanding in any way. The last thing he wanted was the JSF thinking him a greedy upstart.

He felt Minako start next to him and he resisted the urge to slump down his seat; he just remembered he hadn’t told _anyone_ about this.

Keiko-san raised an eyebrow in interest, before jotting down something quick in her folder full of important looking documents.

“Hm. Training abroad would be very useful, I think. There are many coaches I think would benefit you greatly. The JSF has some strong ties to some of the clubs in America and East Asia, mainly. Of course, there are some in Japan itself that would be an improvement, but you did mention overseas first. May I ask why?”

A flash of blue and a flash of silver and Yuuri burned _red_.

“…I want to get my jumps right. I want to learn quads and I think coaches abroad can help with that. Maybe.” Yuuri mumbled, eyes averted and Keiko’s eyes turned shrewd.

“You seem like you already have a place in mind.” She mused, and Yuuri gulped.

After a moment that stretched for eons, Yuuri figured he had nothing to lose.

“Russia.” He blurted, and immediately slapped a hand over his mouth. He cursed his audacity—everyone knew the Russian Skating Federation was the powerhouse of figure skating right up there with Japan and they were notoriously selective and secretive with their training.

It would be impossible to even consider—

But Keiko-san only seemed amused, and Yuuri could feel confusion mingling with the first tendrils of hope.

\--Wouldn’t it?

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* * *

 

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.

Few weeks later, Yuuri was making arrangements for his move to St.Peterburg, Russia.

Like that, Victor Nikiforov went from a distant idol to his rinkmate.

.

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.

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for giving this a try! I'm very nervous with this one since its my first Victuuri fic ever, but I just had to write something or the other for the fandom because i just kept on having so MANY IDEAS. i have so many unfinished drafts on this couple, its actually kind of sad.  
> Anyway, please let me know what you think of it. Any kind of concrit or otherwise is appreciated!  
> Also, all the dates given for the competitions are real for the season. If there is anything that is stated wrong, please do let me know!


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